


Thirty Years, Give or Take

by Gethsemane342



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Foursome - F/F/F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Non-Explicit, Period-Typical Racism, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gethsemane342/pseuds/Gethsemane342
Summary: "She can see that she's surprised Isabela. A thrill runs through her. Zevran smirks, while Morrigan raises an eyebrow. Leliana looks like she doesn't know whether to laugh." Following Alistair's revelation of her shortened lifespan, the Warden tries to feel alive. Following Alistair's revelation, her companions let her.
Relationships: Female Brosca/Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Brosca/Leliana/Zevran Arainai/Isabela, Female Brosca/Zevran Arainai, Zevran Arainai/Female Brosca/Leliana
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Thirty Years, Give or Take

**Author's Note:**

> I've not actually gotten to the end of the game but in my playthrough, because I annoyed Alistair early on, the conversation about the shortened lifespan didn't happen until after I'd done three main quests with Orzammar to go. I then coincidentally went straight to Denerim to get the Duelist specialization and the combo of both events sparked this idea. Also, trying to write a summary without making this sound like a PWP (which it isn't) was one of the harder things I've done recently. And I don't usually write poly stuff (maybe because I'm not poly myself) but some background suggestion somehow came out anyway. Enjoy!

Thirty Years, Give or Take

“Let’s go somewhere private, and I could … show you.”

She can see that she’s surprised Isabela. A thrill runs through her. Zevran smirks, while Morrigan raises an eyebrow. Leliana looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh. For the first time since that conversation with Alistair-

“Ooh, and now you’ve piqued my interest. It would surely be … rude of me, to decline such a delicious offer.”

Natia blinks. Isabela is looking at her appreciatively.

“You’re going with her?” There’s surprise, and something like hurt, in Leliana’s face. “I … I thought you were joking.” Guilt hits her but understanding, followed by resolve, flits into the bard’s expression. “I can’t let you do this. N-not without me … uh, keeping an eye on the both of you.”

Isabela nods formally. “Who am I to deny such a pretty little thing as yourself, my dear? You are welcome to join us.”

Which isn’t quite how Natia thought this would go.

“And how about you, Zev?” Isabela says to the elf, whose smirk has somehow grown both bigger and more annoying. “Shall we, for old times’ sake?”

At that moment, Natia decides that when she grows up, she wants to be Isabela. Zevran seems taken aback. Even Morrigan, standing behind them all, looks perplexed.

Realising that Isabela is being serious, Zevran chuckles slightly. “Oh, Isabela, you and your ridiculous appetites… Perhaps we should leave it up to our friend here?”

He doesn’t look at her or Leliana. A hand slips around her back, to curl around her waist.

Thirty years.

And Orzammar to go.

“Hey, the more, the merrier,” she says

The hand squeezes her waist. “Oh my, what have I got myself into?”

Zevran has recovered his composure. His smirk is sultry now, and a familiar heat rushes through her. “Ah, that impish smile of yours,” he says teasingly. “Leliana, you little minx… It just gives you away.”

Natia laughs at that and Zevan’s grin turns slightly pleased. She glances up at Leliana, whose return smile is soft. Their eyes meet; like always, she feels as though the world is a million miles away.

“Come,” Isabela says, jolting her attention away from the bard, “my ship is down by the docks, and I am sure you will find my cabins quite … comfortable.”

She starts to head off. Zevran glances at Natia and Leliana, shrugs and makes a _shall we?_ gesture. Natia turns, as does Leliana.

“Ahem.” They pause as Morrigan surveys them. “And what, pray, shall I do while the three of you engage in this revelry?”

Zevran turns to Natia instinctively, but Leliana keeps looking at Morrigan. Natia says, “It’s a whorehouse and you can’t think of something to do?”

“Why, are you suggesting I deviate from our quest for my own pleasures? With what gold?”

Natia fumbles in her beltpurse and grabs a few coins. She passes them to Morrigan, who inspects them. “Three sovereigns? My, my. What stamina you possess.”

“Ah, my dear, you have surely heard them in camp? And that is _without_ me.”

Morrigan considers this as Leliana protests that they are not _that_ loud. Then she looks at Natia and says, in an all too serious voice, “If I am forced to listen to all three of you for the remainder of this journey, I will castrate you all.” She smiles a sardonic smile. “Have fun.”

Zevran leers before swiftly walking away to follow a now impatient Isabela. Natia and Leliana trail behind them, out of the Pearl, and along the streets of Denerim.

Natia glances up at the bard beside her. Leliana, sensing her gaze, holds out a hand, letting their fingers lace together. A strange feeling swirls inside her, and the guilt she felt when Isabela first took her up on this idea rises.

“We don’t have to,” she says in a nonchalant tone, now looking ahead. “If … you know. I can tell Isabela and Zev to go on.”

Leliana is quiet for a few seconds. “I do not mind,” she says. “And _you_ need this.”

Natia snorts. “I don’t need a _foursome_.”

Leliana laughs at that. That’s what makes them work – they both have weird senses of humour and it just _clicks_. “Not that, silly. But after you spoke to Alistair, you have been on edge. And you want Isabela, yes?”

Natia flushes, despite herself. “She’s beautiful. And she knows what she wants.”

Leliana nods. “And I saw you with Zevran. I see you now, sometimes.”

Zevran had been an escape. After Connor’s death, and Alistair shouting at her in camp, she’d realised there was no point being a hero, like Rica would have wanted. They were brands. Casteless. Dusters. So, when Zevran came with his easy-going manner, streak of danger, and charming smile, she’d flirted right back. It was like with Leske and others back home. A meaningless way to blot out the world for a few hours.

“We’ve never slept together,” Natia says.

“I know,” Leliana says. “I trust you.”

Zevran had accepted that she was a killer, while Morrigan had traded cynical comments with her on the basis she believed in survival of the fittest. Sten had thought she was ruthlessly pragmatic, a quality he wanted in a leader. Alistair, of course, was stuck with her so had made an effort to be cordial but that was it. Leliana, she’d avoided, not wanting pious sentiments of a god she didn’t believe in. She’d led them the way she’d led Leske back home – pragmatic, callous, reckless, reminding herself that this was how dusters stayed alive. Kept her mouth shut about anything that wasn’t superficial or necessary, since they _weren’t_ Leske. Let them think what they wanted to think.

But then, in the Circle Tower, Natia had refused to let the mages die. Morrigan had been frustrated, especially when Natia asked her to swap with Wynne, while Alistair had been visibly shocked. Only Leliana had taken it as read that _of course_ Natia didn’t want a whole tower of people to die, and _of course_ she would want to save them. That evening, at camp, the bard had watched the way Natia stared into the darkness and quietly told her stories of the special place in the afterlife that the Maker had for children, and of people who had done terrible things for the greater good and been blessed. Natia had barely responded. But the next day, when they’d retired to camp for the night, she’d sought the bard out and asked for stories of Orlais. Leliana had obliged and then, rather than ask for tales of Orzammar, had asked about Natia’s favourite things on the Surface so far, encouraging her to talk and filling silences when Natia could not. They’d talked for so long that Wynne, who barely knew her, had sent them to bed with a gentle smile.

“Then-”

“You feel that _thrill_ when you are with him, yes?”

“Yes,” Natia says truthfully. Leliana knows how Natia feels about Zevran, and something of how she was with Leske. After months of long conversations and whispered confessions, Leliana knows more about her than she’ll ever admit.

“Then why not? _I_ am OK with it. And _we_ always have fun together.”

Thirty years.

Natia makes herself smile. “It’ll be four times the fun.”

“Three times, surely. Unless Morrigan is coming too.”

Natia shudders. “That’s a terrifying thought. What d’you think she’s like in bed?”

Before Marjolaine, Leliana would probably have blushed, but they’re long past that now. It’s another reason they click so well – Leliana knows what it is to have a dark past and to struggle, sometimes, to walk the path between thrilling and right.

Instead, Leliana hums. “Very ruthless, I imagine.” She gives Natia a sly look. “You would probably like-”

Natia yelps and jumps up to clamp a hand over the bard’s mouth. Leliana laughs, then gives the hand a small kiss. Natia lets go and places her arm around the bard’s waist, enjoying the familiar feel of skin. An arm slips around her shoulders.

“You know,” she says as the ship comes into sight, “I’ve never been with more than one person at a time.”

“Really?”

“Why am I not surprised that you have?”

The bard giggles. “It is … expected, sometimes. For a bard. It can be very enjoyable, you know.”

“Well,” Natia says, her voice lowering, fingers playing with flesh, “we’ll have to match it.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Leliana replies huskily, her hand briefly wandering down to Natia’s sides.

Natia twists and steps up to kiss her. After a moment, the kiss is returned and another hand joins the first in exploring Natia’s body and-

“My dears,” a voice says. Natia reluctantly leans back to look towards the ship, where Isabela and Zevran are waiting by the gangplank. Zevran, of course, looks amused though there’s something _hungry_ in his gaze. “I hope you are not planning on keeping the fun to yourselves?”

“Ah, Isabela,” Zevran says, draping a casual arm around the pirate’s shoulders, “they are young and in _love_.” Natia sneers at him half-heartedly. “They are coming. And will soon _be_ coming.”

“Oh, you,” Leliana splutters, even though she can be even worse when it’s just them alone.

Zevran just laughs. He glances at Natia. “You _are_ still planning on coming, yes?”

She places her hands on her hips. “Is that a challenge?”

He grins, and nods his head slightly though she’s not sure at what. “A promise, of course. Come, we waste time.”

Natia starts to walk forwards, heart thumping. She still can’t believe she’s doing this. Doing something ridiculously indulgent and wanton because _she_ wants to, not because someone is making a hole in her head about what they want or because she a duty to fulfil or because someone will die if she doesn’t. It’s odd, really, to think of that when before her reservations would have been of personal safety and boredom and loneliness. Has she changed so much? And how did she find so many people who want to do this with a duster?

“You know,” Leliana says from behind her as she pauses, “the Maker allows us pleasure because He wants us to be happy. Because all are beautiful in the Maker’s eyes.”

She twists as Isabela opens the door to a cabin. Suddenly, there are no words for what she wants to say, so she says, “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Leliana smiles. “You’re so sweet.”

They walk into the cabin. Zevran has already pulled Isabela into a passionate kiss. A strange mix of desire and awkwardness floods her as she sees the pirate melt into him, hands already roaming. Behind her, Leliana places hands on her hips and kisses her neck, making her legs nearly buckle.

Zevran breaks off the kiss to smirk at Natia and Leliana. After a second, he says, “Well, Natia. Finally, I get you.”

She feels Leliana nudge her, so she steps forwards. “Question is, are you worth the wait?”

“Of course,” he says as Isabela beckons with a finger.

She walks forwards and kisses Zevran, desire, heat, and danger and _want_ spilling out. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Leliana descend on Isabela.

Thirty years. Give or take.

She’ll never live to old age. 

* * *

As a teenager, she’d heard two women talking. One had commented that it wasn’t until she slept with someone that she felt she really got to know them.

As a rule, Natia doesn’t think that’s always true – she knows that beneath Morrigan’s hard exterior is someone who longs for friendship; that Alistair believes in the right thing but is terrified of responsibility; that Wynne lectures because she cares deeply, and she’s never slept with any of them. But when she’d been younger, she’d also thought that the woman was placing too much emphasis on something physical. After all, she’d had encounters and whether they were fun or not, they hadn’t _meant_ anything. You could kiss someone one day and be robbing them the next. That was how the world _worked_. Even sleeping with Leske had mostly been boredom, or drunkenness, or wanting to forget something they’d seen or done that day.

The first time she’d slept with Leliana, though, she’d sort of understood it. With Leliana, it had been a wonderful mix of tender, awkward, gentle, surprising and fun. It hadn’t told her anything that she hadn’t already known – Leliana had always been _all_ of those things – but it cemented the feeling of _her_ in Natia’s mind. She remembers that the next day, she’d been unable to stop smiling or trading looks with the bard, to the point that Morrigan, in a rare moment of sincerity, said she was pleased for her. Even Wynne had admitted she’d been wrong about her doubts about their relationship, while Alistair had looked at her curiously but nodded friendly approval when he saw Natia reach for Leliana’s hand. Sten didn’t acknowledge any difference but the fact that he did not suggested to Natia that he was fine with it. Dog, of course, loved Leliana.

So, what does she learn from this encounter?

She learns that for Isabela, the simple act of giving and receiving pleasure is sufficient. That she likes to be in control, that she doesn’t necessarily need to be the centre of attention, but that she likes to see vulnerability. That she listens, and telling her that something is a no go is met only with a nod and change in tack. But mainly, Natia learns that while very _talented_ , there will always be a wall between them. Isabela is not in this to share emotion.

Of Leliana, of course, she learns what she already knows. Leliana is free with her emotion, adventurous in what she does, and _very_ attentive. She likes to laugh and she likes to get involved. But even in the midst of everything, she looks to Natia, as though checking she is enjoying herself, and the tenderest touches and looks are shared between them. Perhaps what Natia enjoys most is Leliana’s willingness to let Natia explore Isabela and Zevran and be explored, because Natia is Leliana’s and nothing will change that.

She learns the most, she thinks, about Zevran. She and Zevran could have been something. It had taken a long time for her and Leliana to even confess to potentially having feelings for each other, and that was a _lot_ of time to joke and flirt and make suggestive comments with the assassin. But even before that, Natia had started to step back from Zevran. And while her acceptance of Leliana’s feelings had been gruff and mostly said to her feet, what had indicated her stance on the matter to everyone was her telling Zevran the next day that there couldn’t be anything more than flirtatious banter between them. She’d hurt his feelings, she knew, but he’d accepted it with good grace and eventually settled at being friends, albeit friends who still flirted and eyed each other.

Now, Zevran is cocky and insatiable and full of jokes and laughter. He reminds her of Leske, on the days where they just wanted an excuse for affection. Yet for all his swagger, he often pauses slightly to make sure whoever he’s with is OK, and always starts gently unless asked for more. He notices more than he says, realising from the way Leliana nearly always strokes Natia’s _left_ cheek that her casteless brand is not to be touched; and from how Leliana flinches away from Isabela touching the scars on her back but not Natia that that is something she’ll only suffer from the dwarf (though he does say _something_ to Leliana, finger perilously close to one scar, and Natia has no idea what it is, but it seems to make Leliana more enthusiastic). With Natia, there is perhaps a hint of regret in his expression but he makes such ridiculous comments that she can’t help making them back, and while being with Leliana is tender and lovely, being with Zevran is like sharing an intimate moment with a good friend, and she loves him all the more for that.

* * *

Afterwards, they lie together, panting. Leliana is curled behind her, arms holding her to her chest, legs tangled with hers, lips in her hair. Zevran lies in front of her, on his side, propped up by his elbow, smiling. Isabela is lying on her back, but one hand plays with Zevran’s long hair.

“So,” Zevran says, “any regrets?”

She feels Leliana stiffen slightly, and places a hand on hers. “You’re talented, I’ll give you that,” she says, “but a bit too _cocky_ for my taste.”

He laughs at that, as she knew he would. “That is no bad thing, yes? But I will stop. You two together … my mother would have learned a lot.”

She can feel Leliana’s confusion at that statement. She says, “Don’t know if that’s a compliment but I’d rather be compared to your mother than mine.”

A sympathetic squeeze. Zevran smiles. “Always glad to be of service.”

Isabela stands then, completely unashamed of her nakedness. Natia can’t help admiring her lithe body and-

“Well, my dears, it’s been fun but we all have lives we should return to.” She smiles. “I believe you have some kind of Blight to fight?”

Natia swallows before gently disengaging Leliana’s hands and standing. “You’re right,” she says thickly. “C’mon, Lels. Zev. Up you get.”

She tries to say it breezily but she can tell from Leliana’s concerned look that she’s not quite pulled it off. Still, nobody wants to address it in front of Isabela so they all dress in awkward silence. When fully clothed, Leliana kisses her forehead, eyes searching hers for something. Natia makes herself smile before turning to Zevran, who almost seems concerned.

Thirty years.

She looks at Leliana, and Wynne’s words come back to her. What is she doing? She can save the world but she can’t have a life with Leliana. She can’t grow old with her, raise children with her, even travel the world for long with her. She still has to go back to Orzammar, and that terrifies her enough. Her companions actually think she’s _someone_. They’ll want to see her home, and she can’t bear the thought of taking them through Dust Town as dwarves spit on her, and introducing them to her drunken mess of a mother. Wynne warned her against doing this to Leliana. And she didn’t listen. Because she’s a stupid brand, a duster who can barely _read_ (quite frankly, she’s taking it on faith that the treaties say what everyone says they do – they may well contain celebratory songs of praise for all she knows), whose greatest aspiration in life before being recruited was to maybe, if she got lucky, reach a _good_ position in the Carta. Not even the top. Leske warned her against that.

They walk back to the Pearl. Leliana holds her hand again, thumb stroking skin comfortingly. She doesn’t speak and Natia is grateful for that. At the entrance of the Pearl, Zevran waits, and, to her surprise, clasps her shoulder before putting an arm around her shoulders to give her a brief hug. She doesn’t think Zevran has _ever_ hugged her.

When they go inside, she’s surprised to see that not only is Morrigan there, smirking, but so is everyone else. Alistair looks perturbed. Sten is with Dog, looking around the brothel with the air of someone inspecting something mildly fascinating. Wynne, bizarrely, appears to be giving some prostitutes a lesson on Ferelden history, while sipping from a cup of tea. When Natia glances at Morrigan, she shrugs.

Leliana, seeing them all there, blushes. “L-let us never speak of this again,” she says to the others.

“Yes, I agree,” Isabela says, though she doesn’t seem particularly bothered.

Zevran looks thoughtful, then smirks a familiar smirk. “I don’t mind never _speaking_ of it again as long as we could _do_ it again.”

Leliana also looks thoughtful. She glances at Natia before saying, “That’s a thought…”

Isabela smiles. “Am I getting old, or has Zevran become even more depraved over the years?”

Zevran shrugs. “I’ve been around Grey Wardens. Perhaps the taint has rubbed off on me some, hmm?” He chuckles at the thought.

Isabela turns to her and reminds her that this whole endeavour started because she wanted to learn the rudimentaries of duelling, to teach the others She agrees to take the lesson then and there because suddenly, she just wants to get this over with.

Before she goes, Leliana bends down to kiss her cheek. Zevran gives her shoulder another friendly clap. Everyone else looks different shades of confused but Natia doesn’t say anything to them.

Despite their exhaustion, Isabela works her hard. She doesn’t talk much other than to give her instruction, for which Natia is grateful. There’s something satisfying about learning a new fighting style. She feels fit and strong; purposeful. And it’s useful. She’ll _use_ this and help defeat the Blight. She even manages to mostly forget that just an hour ago, she and Isabela-

 _Mostly_ forgets.

At the end, as Natia tries to get her breath back, Isabela says, “Something bothers you, my dear.”

Natia shrugs. “It’s nothing. Warden stuff.”

“Of course.” Isabela pauses. “Your bard loves you greatly.”

“I know.”

“You should let her in.”

“These aren’t problems she should deal with,” Natia says, not looking at her.

Isabela doesn’t comment, and Natia leaves.

* * *

Her companions are _still_ in the Pearl. She encounters Morrigan first, who is now reading. When she catches Natia’s eye, she wordlessly holds out a sovereign. Natia takes it unthinkingly, then frowns.

Morrigan shrugs. “You had more stamina than I. And tis a good book. Will you walk around with a face like someone has died forever?”

“Thanks, Morrigan.”

Morrigan shakes her head. “Sulking like a child scarcely becomes you.”

She feels suddenly very tired, and they _still_ have to go to Orzammar. All she wants-

“Let’s just go,” she says.

Morrigan closes her book. “You know,” she says off-handedly, “I have some experiments I wish to perform. Can I surmise that you now won’t mind if I use Alistair for them?”

She snorts, despite herself, and Morrigan smiles slightly. “Please don’t turn him into a frog.”

“I find it curious that you think of frogs. I was thinking a worm…”

Alistair, at that moment, turns up in front of them. He raises an eyebrow. “Should I ask?”

They’re making an effort, now that he’s realised she might not be a complete monster, and she’s realised that he was lost without the authority figures he’d followed all his life. He’s actually kind of funny, if a little temperamental and naïve. She sought out his sister with him, and talked him out of giving that harpy his money. They bonded over relatives for whom they’ll never be good enough, and nightmares nobody else will ever have. He tells her about the Grey Wardens, and she commiserates over the loss of Duncan, who she barely knew but who saved her life and introduced her to the Surface.

That’s what gets her. He never intended to hurt her when he told her…

“Tis nothing to worry yourself over,” Morrigan says.

“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me.” He turns to her. “Are you OK? Leliana’s worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” she says. “Just thinking about how to manage the reception I’ll get in Orzammar. Being casteless and all.”

“They’ll respect you, surely,” he says.

She snorts. “More likely, they’ll think I stole all my gear and arrest me as soon as they see me. I hope you’re good at jailbreaks.”

“Oh sure. Did it all the time at the Chantry.” She nods, and his smile slips. He coughs. “We won’t let them touch you,” he says. “Sten will scare them off. Right, Sten?”

The Qunari has come up to them as well, bringing Dog with him. Dog bounds up to her, and she lets her hands stroke through fur. He whines happily.

“Taking our leader would be foolish,” Sten says. His gaze is stern and she has no idea whether it’s meant to be reassuring or not.

“Why are you guys here anyway?” she says, because she doesn’t want to admit that she _still_ doesn’t know how to read Sten. “You were meant to stay at camp.”

“Ah. Yes. Teeny problem with that,” Alistair says. “We saw Loghain’s men sniffing around so we decided to come into Denerim. Thought you wouldn’t want us fighting them. Dog led us to the Pearl, and then Sten saw a painting through the window and made us come in, which is where we found Morrigan being told she’s never allowed to hire a prostitute here again. She told us where _you_ were. Then, ah, they asked if _we_ wanted to, uh, you know. But Wynne wanted a cup of tea and Sten insisted on inspecting _all_ the paintings so…”

There’s so much to unpick in that, that she isn’t sure where to start. She turns to Morrigan, who shrugs. “I did not say I _hadn’t_ spent some of the coin here.”

“What did you _do_?”

“I merely engaged in some helpful use of my power. Tis not my fault the people around us believed I was summoning a demon.” Seeing her raise an eyebrow, she says, “I am not so foolish as to summon a demon. And _he_ was not complaining. Quite enjoyed it actually, he said.”

“…I’d rather not know.” She knows Morrigan. She’s told Morrigan bits and pieces of her life in Orzammar; and learned some of Morrigan’s childhood. But there _is_ something wild about her and she’s never quite sure where the witch draws the line. Still. Her companions know she will not tolerate the mistreatment of prostitutes, and Zevran, who knows better than any of them what it is to have a loved one in that position, backs her up on it. She doubts Morrigan would disobey them on that.

She glances at Sten, who looks back impassively. Eventually, she says, “Are the paintings in here really that good?”

“Yes.”

“…You had to inspect every one?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” she says. “Good. Glad you had fun.” She shakes her head. “I’ll get the others, then we’ll move out.” She pats Dog’s head, and glances around. Zevran and Leliana are deep in discussion, leaning close to each other. She remembers how they looked, entwined around each other. Then, she glances at Wynne, who is still teaching the prostitutes.

She goes to Wynne first, who answers a question about the Chantry for a young woman, before turning to Natia. She smiles pleasantly. “We’re leaving?” Natia nods. “OK.” She downs the rest of her tea and stands. “I hope that was informative,” she says to her audience. “If you have any more questions, send them to the Circle. I’ll answer them when I return there.”

There are a few protests but they let her go. Natia gets the impression Wynne wants to say something else to her, but she doesn’t. Undoubtedly waiting for camp. It’s probably about not sleeping with three people at the same time.

Zevran sees her first as she approaches, and smiles warmly. Leliana turns, her eyes lighting up when she sees her. Natia reaches up to kiss her. Then the bard puts a hand on the nape of her neck, fingers playing with the skin beneath her hair in a way that always makes her shiver.

She tells them they’re leaving. They both nod though she can see that Zevran wants to say something. Whatever it is, like Wynne, he doesn’t say it, and they return to the others, before heading back into the city, aiming for the outskirts.

* * *

She doesn’t talk much as they leave the city, though Alistair and Morrigan take the opportunity to mock Zevran and Leliana for the afternoon’s activities. Zevran takes it with good humour, but Leliana is flustered. Although Natia doesn’t comment, she laces her fingers through Leliana’s and glowers at the others until they back off.

They camp when it gets dark. Natia tells them they need to go to Orzammar, which is what everyone already knew. She sets them to their various tasks. It helps, to keep busy. Stops her from thinking.

She’s still not sure _why_ she’s in charge. On a superficial level, she knows it’s because she kept her head better than Alistair, they’re the only Grey Wardens, and Morrigan won’t listen to him. But the others could have taken the lead. They have more experience, better skills, command more respect. But they don’t. So, she tells them what to do and tries not to be surprised when they do it.

They’ll soon know better, she thinks, glancing towards the road leading towards the Frostback Mountains and pressing fingers to the brand tattoo on her cheek.

After dinner, she does her usual circuit of the camp to speak to everyone. Since they were all together in Denerim, she isn’t expecting much conversation but it’s become habit, to check in on them, make sure they know what they’re doing.

She speaks to Morrigan first, and apologises for leaving her alone in the Pearl. To her surprise, the witch merely shrugs. “Twas an interesting experience, and you and that blasted elf have been making moon eyes at each other for months. I am glad you got it out of your system.” She looks at the fire. “I am still eager to use Alistair in experiments, you know.”

“I know,” Natia says. “Maybe after the Blight.”

Morrigan smirks. “We should hurry up then. He is rather irritating.”

Natia laughs despite herself, and heads back to the main campfire to check on Sten. He’s not talkative at the best of times, and just says he liked the paintings. Then, as she starts to turn, he says, “A warrior must face the battlefield with a clear mind. There are different ways to do that.” When she glances back, his expression is impassive. “If you need another round, it would be more efficient to return.”

She blushes and busies herself playing with Dog. Dog is even more affectionate than usual, jumping on her and licking her face, showing her a random assortment of treasures he’s collected. When she thanks him, he runs in a small circle, yipping happily.

When she goes to speak to Wynne, she is unsurprised to see the mage inspecting her. She braces herself for the onslaught of disappointment.

“I won’t say your behaviour is becoming of a Grey Warden, Natia,” Wynne says finally. “But Alistair told me of his conversation with you and…” She sighs. “As long as nobody is hurt. Zevran is quite fond of you. And Leliana…”

“I love Leliana,” Natia says defiantly, even though Wynne is _right_. Again. “And Zev knows what was happening.”

“I know, child,” the mage says gently. She places a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Go. Finish your rounds. Just know that you haven’t fallen in my estimation and … if ever you want to talk to an old lady living on borrowed time, I am here.”

There is an understanding gleam in Wynne’s expression, and her breath catches. But she doesn’t have the words, and Wynne gently nudges her away, saying, “Any time, Natia.”

That warms her and she almost feels calm when she goes to speak to Alistair. The templar seems a little embarrassed but doesn’t refer to the foursome, other than to check that things aren’t ‘awkward’. After a few seconds of silence, he tentatively asks if their last conversation upset her. She dodges the question, and he lets her, but his eyes are sad.

“I am sorry, you know,” he says quietly as she leaves. “It wasn’t fair of me to spring it on you.”

Zevran, for his part, looks at her steadily when she approaches. She suddenly doesn’t know what to say to him. She can’t stop remembering how it felt when he-

“It was fun, earlier, yes?”

“Yeah,” she says, trying to match him, ease for ease.

He smiles. “It does not have to be more than that.” He glances in the direction of the Frostback Mountains. “I am sure you have many difficult people in Orzammar. _I_ have some new knives I have been meaning to use.”

She smiles. “Thanks, Zev.” She hesitates. “You and Leliana…”

He cocks his head to one side. “I will not deny that she is attractive. But she is yours.”

She breathes in. “If … if I die then…”

“Ah, my beautiful Grey Warden, that is but a story this Loghain will tell to his men.” He smiles his friendly smile. “Go to your bard, Natia. If you have the stamina.”

He laughs. She tries to laugh too.

* * *

She doesn’t actually get to speak to Leliana immediately, because Sten calls her over to get her view on something he’s seen, and then Alistair wants to talk about tactics.

Leliana finds her sitting by the fire, staring in the direction of the Frostback Mountains. Wordlessly, she sits next to her, shoulder to shoulder.

Thirty years, give or take.

Leliana deserves better than this.

“I am so mad at Alistair,” Leliana says. “He didn’t have to-”

“He didn’t mean it,” Natia says tiredly. “And better I find out now than in thirty years.”

“You are not dealing with this calmly, Natia. Don’t pretend.”

Natia glances at her. The bard’s gaze is somewhere between exasperated and compassionate.

“If Duncan hadn’t rescued me, I wouldn’t have had thirty years,” she says. “I’d be dead. Take your pick as to whether it’d be the nobles or Jarvia. And even if I hadn’t been at the stupid Proving, you think I’d have lasted thirty more years? I was heading for an early grave and we all knew it. My sister sagged with relief whenever I walked in, and I … I used to check on her, when she was asleep, just so I could see she was there. Leske and I used to talk about what we thought was _most_ likely to kill us. Thirty years … should sound great.”

Leliana’s hand reaches up to tuck some of Natia’s hair behind her ear, fingers tenderly brushing skin. “I know you’re upset.”

She turns and traps Leliana’s hand by her cheek, fingers momentarily fitting into gaps. This is how they communicate best, because Natia isn’t good at letting her guard down, and Leliana is too good at being who the other person expects her to be. Sometimes, Natia is amazed their courtship got this far.

“You’ve never been to Orzammar,” she says softly. The hand drops; she looks back in the direction of where the mountains will be. They talk better when they don’t look at each other. “It’s … you know, I’d never felt rain before? It still feels weird. And when we first came outside, I saw trees and it was cold and there were _birds_. And the sky. Ancestors, I always thought I was tough but … it’s so _vast_. And the air wasn’t stuffy but it also smelt weird and it wasn’t close to the Stone. And you’re all so tall.”

She can hear the smile in Leliana’s voice as she says, “It makes us less adorable.”

Natia snorts. “Yeah. That’s what we’re going for. Adorable. Anyway. Thing is, what I realised is: surface-dwellers don’t understand caste. You have these social classes and everyone complains but it’s not caste. A merchant wants to marry a warrior, they can. If a noble beats a servant, they get punished. And even your beggars can work their way to something better.” Her fingers trace the ground. “Down there, my sister’s whoring herself out, just to stay alive. Because if she can catch a noble’s eye, we might get to live in his house – if she can bear him a son. My best friend’s a murderer and thief, and we worked together. We’re not allowed to work. We’re forsaken by the Stone. No wonder my mother’s a drunk and my father left us.” Her cheeks flush as she adds, “You know I can barely read or write, right? Only what Rica managed to teach me.”

She’s never actually admitted that before, but she’s seen the others shoot her looks that vary between scorn and pity when she’s struggled to read something or made someone else write something out.

Leliana says, quietly, “We know. We did not want to embarrass you. Well. We told Morrigan and Zevran they could not mock you for it.” A hand drifts to the nape of her neck. “But Wynne told me to tell you, whenever you wanted to admit it, that she’d be happy to teach you. Zev has also told me he can teach you but Wynne’s probably better at it. Morrigan offered too.” She pauses. “I _think_ she offered anyway. Alistair said if you couldn’t stand the thought of being taught by Morrigan, he could teach you. And Sten didn’t offer but said reading and writing shouldn’t be the leader’s job, so you should just ask him to do it for you.”

Her throat feels tight. “You talked about it?”

“Well. They all told me separately. They think you listen to me.”

Natia smiles, despite that tight feeling. “You say sensible things sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

Natia turns to kiss her. “More than sometimes.”

Leliana laughs.

Natia looks back out, but Leliana keeps her hand on her nape. “Anyway. This, what you said, it’s … I never had that, outside Rica. I mean, I had _Leske_ and some neighbours but … when Beraht can order you to kill each other…” She shakes her head as though dislodging a bad memory. “Duncan was the first non-casteless to look at me like I had caste,” she says. “And the Grey Wardens and everyone in Ostagar, they spoke to me like I wasn’t a duster. I didn’t care much about the Blight because we have darkspawn down in the Deep Roads anyway but I liked being accepted. Even the _King_ spoke to me like I was Warrior. And then Loghain tried to take that away from me.” She says the name bitterly. “But afterwards, Morrigan treated me like a person. Alistair looked up to me. Dog came for me. We met you and Sten and neither of you thought it was weird for me to fight darkspawn. And you actually _loved_ me and treated me like more than something fun.” She shakes her head again, as though she can’t imagine something so silly. “I guess after a while, I just thought … I could do this. I could do _something_ great, be _someone_ and then travel the world with you and grow _old_ with you, like Rica always wanted for me. Go back to Orzammar, get named Paragon, get Rica and Leske into my family so they never wanted for anything, or even get them up here, with me. I just … should have realised I can’t have that. I was being greedy, that’s all. Thirty years is good going. Everything else was just fantasies.”

“Natia…” Leliana turns to her. Unwillingly, she turns her head back to face the bard. “You deserve so much more than thirty years.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Natia says thickly. “Up to thirty years is what I have. Give or take.” She hesitates. “You know the worst part? In a couple of weeks, we’ll be in Orzammar. And if I find Rica, Leske, my mother, I have to tell them that it’s all the same. I still kill people. I’m still being hunted. And I’m still going to die violently.” She draws a breath, but it feels shuddery. “I, I just wanted th-things to be … d-different.”

A sob wracks through her body. Immediately, Leliana is there, arms around her, rocking her gently, lips pressed to her forehead, and she knows the bard doesn’t deserve this.

* * *

Later, after the tears have stopped, Natia mutters to the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Leliana says fiercely. “You take on so much, Natia. We depend on you too much.”

“You don’t. I’m just tired. I’m sorry.” She hesitates as her other thought of the afternoon comes back, and she looks up at her lover. “You, uh, you liked it earlier, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Leliana says with a small laugh. Her expression turns concerned. “Did you?”

“Yeah. But you know I didn’t … I just wanted to say it. I wanted to feel…”

“I know.” She pauses. “Zevran only agreed for you.”

“You and him seem closer now.”

Oh, well, after an afternoon like _that_ …” Natia sees her smile slightly.

“Yeah.” She pauses as she tries to think of how to phrase her next sentence. “He’s a better man than people think.”

“He offered to kill the people who gave me my scars,” she says. “Earlier, I mean.”

“D’you think you and he might-”

She stiffens. “No.”

“Leliana-”

“I am not _swapping_ you. What an awful thing to suggest.”

“It’s not … I can’t offer you a long life together. Up to thirty years, Lels, and I have a Blight to fight and duties to do. Wynne tried to warn me. I … you deserve someone who can give you that time and attention and who understands you, and you and-”

“No.” Her tone is like steel. “I like Zevran. He likes me too. But he is not you and I don’t love him like I love you.”

“You _could_ -”

“No. Natia, if we have up to thirty years then I will _take_ it. We’ll travel the world together, like you said. After all, you are not too annoying. Generally keep your tent well-packed.”

Her lips quirk at the joke. “I love you too. But what if I spend the next thirty years doing _this_?”

“Then I’ll be with you. _We_ will be with you. And it won’t be a waste. It will be enough.”

“You can’t give up your life for me.”

“You silly … I am not giving _up_ a life for you. I am making one _with_ you.” She sounds exasperated. “You don’t realise, do you? How much we _all_ love you.” Natia blinks and Leliana rolls her eyes. “ _Everyone_ knew you were upset and _everyone_ wanted to make you feel better. That is why Zevran joined today, and why Morrigan did not complain much. Wynne, Sten, Alistair, Dog, they wanted to check you were OK. You don’t speak much, and you claim you’re just a thug, but you care so _much_. You rescued Dog from death. Killed Morrigan’s mother to save her. Found Aneirin for Wynne. Faced Marjolaine with me. Helped Alistair find his sister. Started looking for Sten’s sword. You are the _best_ person I know and the only person who could keep us all together in a group. The caste system is silly. There, I said it. The caste system nearly made us lose someone as wonderful as _you_. You have up to thirty years, Natia, but I know you. You will make those years something great. And I would prefer thirty years with you, than nothing at all.”

Natia swallows. Her throat feels tight.

“Leliana?” she says quietly.

“Yes?”

“I … I’m scared. Of going home.” She closes her eyes. “I don’t want to be casteless again. I don’t want to find out Rica and Leske are dead. I don’t want to have to leave them. I don’t want to not _see_ them.”

Hands rub her back gently. “We will be there with you. Like you were with us. I promise.”

She nods. “I … want to introduce you,” she says, eyes now open but not looking at her. “To Rica. And Leske, if he’s around, but mostly Rica. So that when I tell her about everything, she can see that it’s still the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Natia…” She hears an inhalation of breath. “I can’t wait to meet her. Will you introduce everyone else too?”

“I want to. I think she’d like to see that I … have a family up here.”

“You do,” Leliana says. She hesitates. “When we travel the world, we can bring them.”

Natia smiles. “You want another round with Zevran? Or maybe with Wynne and Morrigan added- Hey!” She laughs as Leliana pokes her. “Just offering suggestions.”

Lips touch her cheek. “I love you. Come to bed?”

“You _are_ insatiable.”

She sees a smirk. “You love me for it.”

Natia stands, and then helps the bard up. “Thank you,” she says in a more serious voice. “For earlier. And this.”

Fingers lace through hers. “You’re welcome.”

Thirty years.

It’s more than she had before. She’s saved a village from the dead. Traversed the realms of the Fade. Cured werewolves of their curse, saved the lives of the Dalish elves, fought abominations and darkspawn. She’s done so much more than anyone ever told her she could.

They walk through the camp. Nearby, she sees Zevran, Sten and Wynne, keeping the watch. Zevran waves, while Wynne inclines her head slightly. Sten nods. Dog is curled up asleep near the fire.

She’s only been topside for maybe a year, she thinks, and she’s dying a slow death. But she _feels_ more alive than she ever did down in Dust Town and that has to count for something. She feels like she’s finding herself, like she’s _more_ than the thug everyone said she was.

She has up to thirty years. But like Leliana said, maybe she can do something great with them. She could _save_ everyone, be the hero Rica wants her to be, become _Paragon_. She could go back to Orzammar and help the casteless, stop there being more Berahts and Jarvias. She could see the world. And she could do it with Leliana, with Zevran, with Wynne and Morrigan and Dog and all her companions, who let her be stubborn in her own stupid way because they love her in their own stupid way. With them, it would be worth it. It would be meaningful and everything she ever wanted as a kid. With them, with all of them, it would be a life.

Thirty years, give or take.

It’s enough, she thinks.

They’ll make it be enough. 

**_ Fin _ **


End file.
